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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22917175">While He Was Drinking Coffee</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceversa/pseuds/viceversa'>viceversa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCIS</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Crushes, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gibbs is still Gibbs, Humor, Jack just never started working for NCIS, Mild descriptions of violence, POV Alternating, Rom-Com Elements, Romance, Slow Burn, Therapy, While You Were Sleeping (1995) - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:22:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,787</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22917175</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceversa/pseuds/viceversa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's nearing winter when Jack moves to D.C. for her new consulting job. She spends most of her free time working at a diner near her crappy apartment. A handsome regular catches her eye and suddenly she's nursing a huge crush on a stranger...<br/>- <br/>Gibbs has changed a lot over the past few years, but when he notices a beautiful blonde popping up at the diner, she's suddenly all he can think about.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>243</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>263</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Favourite Fanfictions</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Diner Crush</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A few months ago I watched the 1995 rom-com classic While You Were Sleeping, starring Sandra Bullock and Bill Pullman, and halfway through the movie I was inspired to begin this. Don’t worry if you haven’t seen the movie because this is only faintly inspired by the general premise, and it soon morphs into something unique and insane. If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it. It’s wild and completely unrealistic, which is perfect for a rom-com.<br/>This story is complete, and I’ll update regularly. This is an AU, but Gibbs is still Gibbs, I’ve just messed with Jack’s job and recent background. The only thing I’ve really changed is that this is a little more humor (a lot, ok) and cheesiness than in the show. I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She’d first seen him in the diner. Well, actually just outside the diner. But he was walking in, and she followed his every movement on instinct.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was tall and silver-haired with piercing eyes, if that were any real way to describe him. Dark blue suit, nothing fancy. Shoes that were practical but still looked great. And his hands… well, the list went on. He moved with such brazen confidence, like he could’ve owned the place, but she had a feeling he exuded that same energy everywhere he went. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She made him for a Marine almost instantly, and dammit if she weren’t immediately enamored with a jarhead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack could hear her old unit laugh at her, the thought making her smile sadly even as she continued to watch the man. She was better, but the memories still pulled at her gut, still made her wrists ache and her back burn. But that wasn’t what she felt at that moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tall, silver-fox Marine made her burn in an entirely new way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Washington, D.C. was a place Jack never envisioned herself living. The possibility never crossed her mind beyond thinking of the city in a distant, politics and history sort of way. She’d been to the east coast plenty, born and raised in Philadelphia, but at heart she loved the constant sun of southern California. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet here she was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A series of unfortunate and only slightly heartbreaking events led to her decision to move across the country. The new city, new job, and new life were founded on the desire to escape and start something different. And though she wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of living in a swamp and enduring real winters again, her heart felt lighter with the distance from her old life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even though her new life kickstarted a special kind of anxiety in her chest that led, somewhat desperately, to her fixating on a gorgeous man seen frequently in a simple diner not far from her apartment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack had found the diner by accident, needing a place for a late, late dinner after moving to D.C. in such a rush it left her dizzy. The waffles and coffee had hit the spot and she’d come back as a regular. The wi-fi was slower than her apartment, but the food was good and the atmosphere was just busy enough to make her focus on her work. Elaine, one of the regular servers, never tried to run her off if she got engrossed for too many hours and only ordered coffee and used all of the sugar at her table. Jack made sure to leave good tips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The handsome stranger was only a tangential benefit to hanging out at the diner, really. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then weeks went by, a pattern emerged, and Jack was sure she was in love. Or at least in very serious, long-term lust.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alright, she kind of felt like a stalker the way she thought about him, but he was there all the damn time! It wasn’t hard to occupy the same space as him on a regular basis. It wasn’t like she was following him home or anything. She went to the diner, tried to get work done, then went back to her apartment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her new place was much too small and empty for her liking. There weren’t enough windows for good light, and the walls were thin, making any thump from her neighbors echo in her space. When she took the new job opportunity, she had to choose a place sight-unseen across the country, and the little one-bedroom was barely big enough for her things but it was the best she could do on short notice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even without the handsome stranger, the diner provided an atmosphere of life and newness even in its comfort, and her walks there quickly turned into a daily routine for people watching, mild socializing, and for work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wasn’t quite sold on her new job yet. It was a consulting gig involving a lot of writing and reviewing. The company was new but on the rise, and they offered her this position at just the right time. Jack jumped at it, craving any sort of stability a job could promise, and it was barely two weeks later that she’d landed in D.C. The work had been steady, if remote, for the time being before the new headquarters opened up downtown. She’d be in charge of a division of people - lower-level consultants and editors and the like. It all seemed distant and uncertain still, and deep down she worried that she’d made a mistake, but she was going to see it through. It was her only option.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack was mainly using her psych degrees and experience in consulting with providers and case workers. It wasn’t quite glitz and glam and drama, but maybe she’d had enough of that for a lifetime. Maybe D.C. was her time to slow down and settle in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack rolled her eyes at the thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. Marine was in there almost as often as Jack, and he seemed to have a regular booth and Elaine brought his food and coffee without him ordering. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he would come in just before the morning rush, Elaine or whoever had that shift would turn and make him four coffees to go with barely a word. Sometimes he came in to eat, and on a few occasions, he’d meet someone there and have a tense conversation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After two weeks of noticing him almost every time she was there, she moved to the counter and waited near ‘his’ booth. He was already proving to be a distraction to her, and she was itching to know more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>it was the best decision, it was the worst decision</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She questioned her own sanity more than once as she watched him, but it never stopped her. She became addicted to that half of the diner - to </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> half - even when he didn’t show up. She was drawn to him and always a little disappointed when he was a no-show.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a crush. Jacqueline Sloane snorted at the premise, but recognized it as truth all the same. She had a crush on an anonymous guy at a diner, and she felt a little insane. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I was in the Army</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I have multiple degrees, I am a surviving POW. I am damn near fifty years old, and I have a </span>
  </em>
  <span>crush </span>
  <em>
    <span>on a handsome stranger.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The brief focus she’d found in the diner all but vanished each time he came in the door, and yet she couldn’t make herself go someplace else. Nor could she stamp down the little thrill in her gut when she saw him smile, or even saw him at all. She did stop herself from imagining their wedding like a little girl would. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But he would look awfully good in a suit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, her inner voice prodded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack rolled her eyes covertly, then took a sip of her coffee to mask her gazing (that’s what she’d devolved to - </span>
  <em>
    <span>gazing)</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the back of the mysterious and alluring stranger’s head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought to herself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve gone cuckoo for an anonymous coffee addict.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Regular and the Newbie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Gibbs had few things that he truly enjoyed in his day-to-day life, and he enjoyed them to their fullest extent. His list of vices were small, but they largely defined who he chose to be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Building his boat was practically meditation, if he’d ever consider the benefits of meditation. The hobby had helped focus his thoughts, solve problems as well as hide from them, and deal with his emotions for decades. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bourbon and steak went on the list too. Anyone who knew him for any length of time could recognize these vices in him, and those that knew him a little better than that could tell you specific brands and spread rumors about how he cooks his steak in his fireplace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Work was work, but he took pride in it. His life revolved around NCIS for better or worse, and he couldn’t think of another thing he’d ever want to devote as much energy toward. Choosing that job at NIS with Mike Franks had saved his life, and he was just as devoted to the work as he was on day one. His team was his family, and he didn’t take that lightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Coffee. Gibbs laughed at adding it to the list. A person within sight of Gibbs could tell he was a coffee drinker for the omni-present cup in his hands. He’d surpassed simple addiction to complete dependency, even if in recent years he’s slowly backed off on the amount. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took a bullet to the chest and open heart surgery to truly begin that particular shift, not to mention a few years later going cold turkey in a prison cell in Paraguay, which did a number on his coffee habit as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He got his coffee from the diner, and he had so for years. Simple as that. It was a good, strong brew that had just enough bite to keep him on his toes. Nothing special - no weird names for sizes or twenty ingredients that made the drink mainly sugar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Over the years he’d gotten to know the waitstaff, Elaine almost always there when he was. They’d also gotten to know him. And his orders, and his mood, and his team. The diner was comforting, deep down, having a small town feel that Gibbs found a measure of comfort with in the big city. Gibbs thought people were better off knowing who was who, and he’d seen plenty of regulars nod their head just like he did when he entered the diner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which is exactly why he noticed </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> almost immediately. A blonde with glasses, focused on the laptop in front of her, one hand hovering next to a cup of coffee and the other tapping a pen on a notepad. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Damn, she’s beautiful, </span>
  </em>
  <span>had been his first thought at the sight of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe it was his detective skills, or maybe some remnant of his ability to find a beautiful woman in a crowd of people, but the blonde sitting at the counter made him turn his head more than once in the short time it took to get his coffee order.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was striking, and that was only one word for it. Her clothes labeled her as a professional, and her focus on the laptop pinned her for one of those types to usually work in coffee shops - someone who needed a busy atmosphere instead of a quiet office. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At second glance, he took in the coffee cup and empty pastry plate in front of her. At third glace, he noticed how her fingers hovered over the keyboard while she was in mid-thought, nails neat and short enough to be practical. At fourth, he just noticed how gorgeous she was all over again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fifth glance was really the extended fourth, and he tried to suppress it with the thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop staring, she’ll think you’re a creep</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he looked anyway, noticing how her hair curled slightly around her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was all he got in before his usual four coffees appeared in front of him. He handed Elaine the total almost sheepishly (and for him, that was saying a lot) and she gave him a long glance. He knew she’d figure him out sooner rather than later - it was a gift of hers - so he beat feet and left with his coffees. Duty called.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about the beautiful stranger that day. It had been a long, long time since someone caught his eye like that. Another blonde came to mind and he pushed the thought away, pushed all of it away, to refocus on work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But work was over. The case was, anyway. All that was left was paperwork, and he’d had a hell of a time just supervising his team to make sure they’d get it done. If he was more on edge than usual, the team wrote it off as one of his moods and buckled down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had a good team, but they could be great someday. Gibbs wasn’t one to reminisce about the good ol’ days - usually because that sort of trip down memory lane ended at the bottom of a bottle of bourbon - but there were times when his team was a well-oiled machine. He could leave them to it and not have to keep an eye on them as much. Now, though, with his new additions and dynamics of the past couple years, this iteration hadn’t had time to settle down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Torres was still a wild card - still prone to moodiness and rash decisions. Bishop had grown so much over the years she’d been on the team, and Gibbs was damn proud of her, but he could tell she was struggling too, trying to grow too fast. And McGee - God, what hasn’t he been through? McGee had been there longer than most at NCIS, and he’d only gotten better as an agent and as a man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs thought they all needed psychiatric help. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And so do I. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ask him ten years ago and he would have laughed in your face. Head doctors weren’t necessary, weren’t needed, and they weren’t helpful - if anything they were another in a long line of bureaucratic nuisances. But the same events that lowered his coffee consumption changed him as a person, and they also brought a Dr. Grace Confalone into his life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, hell, what a difference that made. Who’da thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs wasn’t an idiot. He knew, and he’d always known, that repressing trauma wouldn’t do anyone any good. But he’d developed other ways of working it out. Boat. Bourbon. Work. His sense of purpose drove him, and for years it had sustained him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And now he was just trying to hold together the pieces of his team, hoping that only one of them would fall apart at a time so he could manage it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He made a mental note to talk to Dr. Grace about it, even Leon if necessary. A psych eval wouldn’t cut it with them. They were all too smart to fail it, and some paper pusher wouldn’t be good enough for them anyhow. They needed something… more. But he didn’t know what. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>-</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While he pondered that question, his mind somehow inevitably went back to the beautiful stranger he’d been so distracted by. He saw her once, and then it was like she was haunting him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t help that, in the ensuing days, he’d seen her again and again. She was at the diner almost as frequently as he was, and she seemed to stay a lot longer than he ever did. She was there when he got there in the morning, and sometimes still there when he came in for food later in the day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Over a few weeks, she quickly became a new regular in the diner. But instead of receding into the background of chatter and atmosphere like the others, Gibbs kept on noticing her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d look for her blonde curls, her thick black glasses, her laptop and bag and coat and, really, just her. He’d take mental note of a new hairstyle, a new shirt color, a new pastry order. His eyes would stutter over the way she bit the tip of her glasses, the tensing of her shoulders, the rapidity of her typing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t take long to notice her smile either. She had a few - one she gave Elaine or whoever her waitress was that day. It was soft, genuine, and polite. Another was unconscious, prompted along with her triumphant gesticulations directed at her computer. Gibbs wondered what excellent point she’d just written that made her so happy. A third, one that he’d only seen once when she’d been lost in her thoughts. He could barely take his eyes off her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it was seriously throwing him for a loop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not just the persistent presence of her in his thoughts, not just the compulsion to go to the diner even more often for longer just to see her - it was the paralyzing, invisible force that kept him from just… approaching her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ya know, like a normal guy?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The list of reasons that wall was there was annoyingly, shamefully long. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was older than her, for one, by at least a decade and some change. He had a dangerous job that usually dragged those he cared about into its claws. He had enough baggage to overload a cargo plane, even though he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> working on it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank you very much</span>
  </em>
  <span>. With his luck, the woman would end up trying to kill him, or work for an enemy, or already be married. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, possibly more glaringly, he was damaged beyond comprehension in the relationship department. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Four marriages. Three ex-wives. A handful of serious relationships. Most of that list was dead and the others hated him. The woman in the diner was better off not knowing he existed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he continued to go to the diner - his coffee habit wasn’t that flexible after all. He kept on trying to ignore her, and decided to not acknowledge her looks at him, even though they almost intersected with his own (recurring, unstoppable) looks of his own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just a new thing on the long list of stuff on his shoulders. At least the coffee would always be there. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Name and Elaine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Gibbs</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His name came from a call he’d answered in the first week she’d noticed him, answered in a way she’d only heard soldiers and law enforcement speak. He abandoned his meal with barely a bite taken, a nod to Elaine as his only parting word. Jack had watched discreetly behind a mug of coffee as he ran out the door to a sleek navy-blue Charger and sped off, Elaine taking the abandoned food in stride. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Elaine refilled her coffee a minute later, Jack couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “That guy stiff you, or what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Agent Gibbs? He’s got a tab.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack hummed, absorbing ‘Agent.’ A man in military uniform had been her type in the past, and a man in a position of authority had a nice ring to it too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elaine turned back to her and leaned on the counter as if sensing her need for more information. “He leaves in the middle of meals too often for common sense. Didn’t even start on this one - I think the man runs on caffeine alone most days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack chucked with Elaine good-naturedly and tried to re-focus on her latest article, wondering what was so important that he just ran off. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Agent Gibbs</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought. She even typed it out, in the middle of a sentence, just to see what it looked like. She deleted it forcefully, blushing at her schoolgirl antics. It was a step away from doodling </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mrs. Agent Gibbs</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a notebook with little hearts around it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She found out his job next. Jack already figured he was a cop, a detective, and Elaine confirmed it by calling him Agent. It took another week to hear something about NCIS and she thought it fit – a retired Marine turned Navy cop. Jack wondered if maybe he knew Leon, but the thought of calling up her old friend - with whom she hadn’t spoken in years - just to chat about a guy he may or may not know, well. It was maybe a step too far. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hadn’t contacted Leon for a million reasons. God, the last time they’d spoken wasn’t too long after Jackie was killed. As much as she trusted him for all the things they’d been through, she didn’t want to update him on the turn her life had taken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack had had a few different jobs after she ‘retired’ from the Army. Or, really, after she was declared MIA, then a POW, then rescued, sent to recover in various military hospitals from the Middle East to Bethesda, then honorably discharged with a ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry about that.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that was a different issue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her real problem was admitting that she didn’t get the job she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> she’d get. The teaching position at Cal State. It was interim for three semesters, and she loved it. The students were interested and passionate, her colleagues were smart and funny, and she was fully on board to be hired permanently. For the first time in a decade, she felt like she had her life together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then it all fell through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was still reeling from it. They had bullshit reasons, the opposite of what she’d been told when she was hired. Jack had been made a fool, screwed over, taken advantage of and led on, and she was mad as hell. So of course she didn’t want to tell Leon about it, not when he had gotten his shit back together and she was still trying to find her place in the world. After a decade, she thought she’d be on track, have a purpose in life. Maybe this new job would get her there, even if it was off to a rough start.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her therapist in California had referred her to someone in D.C., and she hadn’t called to make an appointment. A Dr. Grace Confalone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, Gibbs. She may not want to ask Leon, but it didn’t stop her from Googling him immediately and reading about some of his cases and accolades. The man was… very well decorated. Dedicated to his job, not afraid to go above and beyond the call of duty. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ooh la la, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought sarcastically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack was torn. Maybe she should call Leon, catch up, see what he knew about the guy. She could lie, say she was still in California, that she’d seen something on the news about a Gibbs and NCIS, try to get the low down. But no. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, she just kept coming to the diner at obscenely early and odd hours, just in hope of catching a glimpse or another little fact. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I am a creepy stalker</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Hell, if this NCIS </span>
  <em>
    <span>Special </span>
  </em>
  <span>Agent </span>
  <em>
    <span>Leroy Jethro </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gibbs was worth his weight in investigative skills, he’d already flagged her as a possible crazy person. Perfect for a first impression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe she should call this new therapist sooner rather than later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least she had a good reason to be at the diner aside from stalking a random attractive man. Kids and students flocked to Starbucks to study and write papers, but the diner served a more… age-appropriate crowd. She wasn’t the only single person glued to a laptop in the diner most days, especially since it was open 24 hours and had really, really good coffee. And plenty of sugar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her articles and reports kept multiplying, complicating. Her Marine - and for god’s sake, when did he become </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> Marine - was a distraction. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dammit, Sloane, grow a pair and introduce yourself and get the hell over it</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next time she saw him was almost a week later. Her courage had grown and buckled, now almost pitiful with reluctance and second-guessing. She’d skipped the diner for a few days, called across town into long, boring as hell meetings with her new employers. With the distance from her routine came a nagging feeling, like she was making up her attraction in her head. A classic case of distraction anxiety. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bothered and stressed by her articles and this new consulting gig that really hasn’t been what was advertised, she turned to another constant to offset the negative feelings into something positive. Positive, but also somehow anxiety inducing. But instead of a headache and a restless night, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Agent Gibbs</span>
  </em>
  <span> just made her feel like a lovesick 14-year-old and a failure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Physician, heal thyself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when she went back to the diner, it was his turn to be elusive. It was days before he’d finally shown up again, this time he wasn’t alone. He met two people at the bar, just feet from her booth (strategically next to his usual booth), and discussed something that sounded like a case before dismissing them and drinking his usual black coffee. That must’ve been his team, or at least part of it. She’s barely noticed them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was so close. She could lean out of her booth and touch his… back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This might be her chance. He was here, alone - and Jack was trying to force herself to make a move, yell, do </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, when his phone rang and he disappeared out the doorway like smoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack visibly sagged in the booth, her hands barely catching her face as she huffed out an annoyed breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Problems, hon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elaine. Bless her. “Oh, the usual,” said Jack, half moaning into her hands. “Work. Men. The lack thereof. My own idiocy. New city, new life. A growing caffeine addiction. Distractions.” She shot a polite, tight-lipped smile up to her waitress - the one degree living connection she had to her… fixation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hear ya.” Elaine paused for half a beat, as if to offer her opinion on something and Jack urged her to speak, she needed a voice of reason or contempt. She’d been too alone in her own damn head since she got here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seems to me,” Elaine began, “that when you have that many problems, the only way to go about fixing them is one thing at a time. Gotta start somewhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack contemplated the advice as Elaine refilled her coffee, seeing its reason and trying to reconcile it with her own self-involved angst. See: hormonal teenager.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And just between you and me,” Elaine dropped her voice slightly, “Agent Gibbs is a good man. A good, trustworthy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>single</span>
  </em>
  <span> man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack just gaped at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A little rough around the edges, but that’s no reason to keep to yourself.” With a wink and a smile, Elaine walked off to talk to someone else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Recovering only slightly from the absolute embarrassment of having been caught with a crush, Jacqueline Sloane practically sped back home, nearly running the four short blocks to her plain apartment building. She needed the space to regroup and figure out just what the hell was wrong with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once inside, she sped toward the desk to find her previous therapist’s business card with Dr. Confalone’s number written on the back. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Advice from Everyone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“What’s going on, Popeye? You’re quiet…er than usual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gibbs sighed. His sessions with Dr. Grace were sporadic but as regular as he could manage. She helped more than he hated going, and he always had something that came up to talk about. He just wasn’t sure how to bring this up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, naturally, he deflected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’d’ya think about getting a shrink for the office? Someone there to help my team?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grace raised an eyebrow, stubborn to her core and taking none of his bullshit. “You sure that’s what you want to talk about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They need someone to lean on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ve got you. And each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gibbs scoffed. “I’m no help.” He shuffled on the couch, getting antsy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jethro</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she drew out his name like it was an admonishment. “You know damn well what you mean to your kids. And what they mean to you.” She paused, making him really hear that. “Though I wouldn’t say no to you all having psychiatric supervision.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t tell if she was joking, but know her she probably wasn’t. Gibbs stayed silent, hoping for a phone call to get him out of this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, that’s one thing that you should take up with Leon. But there’s something else… lurking under there.” She gestured to him vaguely. “Is it work? Someone hurt your boat? Woman problems?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifted, giving himself away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha! A woman!” Grace quickly sobered. “A woman? Hell, Gibbs, that’s a change.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothin’.” He looked anywhere but her. And, really, he could’ve left, but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> bothering him, and what was he payin’ her for, after all?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grace waited with her usual air of impatience, but not for long. “Spit it out, Gibbs. Who is she?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gibbs sighed and crossed his arms, uncomfortable as hell but talking anyway. He was a changed man, after all, he reminded himself. “I don’t know her name. Just seen her around, at the diner. A lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’ve got a crush?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do! You’ve got heart-eyes for a stranger!” Grace laughed, then sobered, barely reigning in her unprofessional glee. “She must be beautiful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gibbs shrugged. Grace had that right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what’s the issue? Got a ring on her finger? Doesn’t have red hair? What’s stopping you?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s a blonde.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grace gaped at him. “And </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> stopping you? Hell, Gibbs-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, jeez.” He uncrossed his arms again, shifted on the couch. “She’s just a blonde. And she’s… beautiful. And I can’t get her out of my head.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grace nodded for him to continue and Gibbs gave up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s it! The woman haunts me! I go to the diner, she’s there. I go to the diner and she’s not there, and I think about her there. I’m at work, she’s in my head. I can’t focus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Grace Confalone, the tiny spitfire of a head shrink, had the audacity, had the gall, to laugh right in his face. For more than a second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s probably why he respected her so much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a crush! On a </span>
  <em>
    <span>girl!</span>
  </em>
  <span> And you’re all </span>
  <em>
    <span>nervous!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she laughed. “I - I gotta tell ya, Popeye, when you started seeing me I really didn’t expect this to be a major issue with you. Last week you almost died, </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and nothing. But this? Brought to your knees by a pretty girl? Maybe I should be paying you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gibbs stood, secretly entertained but still annoyed at her reaction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, don’t go! Sit, sit, I’ll be civil.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smirking to himself, he perched back on the couch, waiting for Grace to collect herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Yes. A woman. A beautiful blonde in the diner, and you have a crush, but you haven’t done anything about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gibbs shook his head minutely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not? Despite your many, many flaws,” she winked, “I have to say you’re a catch, Gibbs. Got the whole tall, handsome man-in-charge thing going for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gibbs raised an eyebrow at the remark and then shook his head. “‘S not worth it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What isn’t?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Putting someone else in danger. Can’t do it anymore.” Gibbs shrugged, completely honest. “Can’t bring myself to lose anyone else. See anyone else walk away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grace deflated and her eyes went soft. “Aw, Popeye,” she sighed. “I know we haven’t talked about your previous relationships much, but we have talked about </span>
  <em>
    <span>loss</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And how it’s not your fault, it’s never been your fault. Not Shannon and Kelly-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He barely hid his flinch, but she went on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not Diane, not Kate, not Ziva - not anyone has been your fault. And now that I’ve said that list out loud I know I missed several names, which we can talk more about next time, but just because you have a dangerous life sometimes doesn’t mean you’re hurting those you care about. Not even close.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gibbs had his eyes trained on the floor. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grace let him try to absorb that for a moment. “And maybe it’s just my opinion, but I don’t see why you shouldn’t ask a beautiful, single woman out on a date. What could one date hurt? Besides, Gibbs, you deserve to be happy. Even if you don’t think so. Maybe a little practice in the area will help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gibbs waited a beat, sitting on the couch and questioning everything that had come out of her mouth. There was a difference between hearing something like that and accepting it as the truth, and he was struggling with the latter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grace’s phone buzzed, signaling the end of their session, and he was out the door before she could stop the alarm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gibbs always felt off after talking with Grace, maybe a little trapped in his head. This time was no different. It had been a while, of course, since his last relationship. That fact didn’t bother him - or it least he didn’t think it did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hollis Mann. She was gorgeous, funny, smart. Always had something to say that caught him off guard, kept him on his toes. If he were counting, it was probably the most successful relationship he’d had since Shannon. Maybe because it didn’t end in death or divorce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hell. Thinking about his trio of ex-wives used to make him dizzy. Now he was just tired. That time period of his life was more than chaotic, moving from one attempt at stability to the next in rapid fire, hurting and getting hurt in the process. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing could replace what he’d had with Shannon; the family of her and Kelly. He knew that now, he’d come to peace with it. It had taken nearly twenty-five years to get that far, and since that milestone passed it was… easier. Not easy, not fine. But easier. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Going from decades of not being able to talk about them to where he was now was a tough transition, and things just… felt different. Even had Hollis felt different, like he was a little more free to enjoy himself. They were never destined for marriage or even long-term, but their relationship had shifted something in him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something he hadn’t cared to examine until now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were a million things he could point to that had changed his outlook on life in the past decade. But his outlook on… on </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span>? On relationships? On a woman to come home to after a long day, one that he could trust with his life?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d given up on that ages ago. Or so he thought. Because the feeling in his gut, the way this mystery woman haunted damn near his every thought for the past three weeks, maybe that had all changed too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gibbs went back to the diner. Was it a masochistic move? Yes. But did he need the coffee anyway? God, yes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He braced himself when he entered, but the blonde wasn’t inside. Stuck between disappointment and relief, he took his usual seat in his usual booth. Perhaps he sat down a little more heavily than usual, but it made no difference as Elaine arrived at his table and filled up his mug with his usual brew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elaine was one of the few constants in his personal life that he could rely on. She knew his habits in the diner, knew exactly what he wanted, and knew when to leave him alone. He nodded his thanks and she left him to it. Bless her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annoyingly, his eyes kept drifting to the door, then to the spot she usually sat at by the bar, then, covertly, to her usual booth that happened to be directly behind him. It always drove him a little crazy, not being able to keep his eyes on her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wondering if she was looking at him, looking at… the back of his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Get a grip Jethro.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Elaine came back just in time for a refill, but this time she lingered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I get you something to eat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gibbs smiled and shook his head. What he needed was two more cups of coffee and a clear head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up at Elaine as she continued to stand there, wondering what she was up to. At her look, he raised an eyebrow. She hesitated but made a decision. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was here earlier. Dr. Sloane.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gibbs eyes widened comically but he couldn’t help it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dr. Sloane</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, please Agent Gibbs. I’ve seen the way you look at her. And they way you were looking </span>
  <em>
    <span>for </span>
  </em>
  <span>her. It’s not subtle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gibbs didn’t know what to say to her. His mind was stuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dr. Sloane</span>
  </em>
  <span> circling on repeat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She stayed for a few hours, but she left a little while before you came in. And, not that it’s any of my business,” she said in that tone of voice betraying how much she thought it was her business, not that Gibbs was complaining, “but I think she was looking around for you, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was absolutely nothing Gibbs could do to force the blush from filling his face. Elaine just smiled and walked away, leaving him speechless. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For God’s sake, man, pull yourself together! You are sixty-three-goddamn-years-old, not a blushing teenager</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he was, and Elaine knew it, and maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dr. Sloane</span>
  </em>
  <span> did too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gibbs finished his coffee and left, leaving his usual tip on the table. He had a boat to consult with, a bourbon to drink, and a Dr. Sloane to ponder.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for the comments and support everyone! <br/>coming up in the next chapter, they... meet?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A Chance Encounter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>This is it - her chance. Her actual, </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> chance at talking to this </span>
  <em>
    <span>bastard</span>
  </em>
  <span> that had been plaguing her for weeks</span>
  <em>
    <span>. Damn, Sloane, don’t be so harsh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but this was it, and with crassness came blind strength. She hoped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Agent Gibbs had sauntered in (because of course that was exactly how he walked) three days after the last time she’d seen him. He looked tired but content at the end of what appeared to be a long day. He nodded at Elaine and was soon brought his favorites along with piping hot coffee. Jack watched, once again, the back of his head as he ate. It was a nice head, after all. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re a crazy person.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something in her gut made it feel like he knew she was there, like he knew she was watching him. Maybe it was wishful thinking, or maybe it was true and he really had pegged her for a watchlist and an impending restraining order. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She groaned audibly and hid her face in her hands. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pull yourself together, Sloane</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was late, dark outside for hours late, and she’d been staring at her laptop screen for most of the day. No wonder she was half crazy anyway, arguing back and forth on her position on a case study all day and then re-editing her conclusion fifty times. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly she gathered herself and looked back up, ready to give up for the day. Inevitably, her gaze wandered back to her target. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His body posture was relaxed, his ancient flip phone wasn’t on the table - his case must be over. Maybe he’d even have the weekend off. The timing couldn’t be much better, and she had no excuses. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aside from looking like a mess, being exhausted, and having little reason to think he’d say yes... No! No excuses!</span>
  </em>
  <span> So, she waited a little longer, this time on purpose, and planned to make her move outside the diner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An easier escape, she thought, if rejection was in her future. Just run home and eat the ice cream (recently bought) in her fridge and only go to the Starbucks in the opposite direction to work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Goodbye, diner</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought just in case. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It was nice knowing ya</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almost an hour later, Gibbs dropped money for the bill and left the diner with a faint ding of the bell. Jack was on his tail, having to gather her coat, bag, and laptop precariously in her arms as she followed. Damn, he was fast. Long legs. He didn’t seem like a man that was slow to action. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack stopped abruptly at the loud voice behind her, a heavy hand coming down on her shoulder that she tried to shake off. A strange man had stopped her and she nearly bit off his head before he spoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Give me the laptop and you won’t get hurt. Purse too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Seriously!?</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, screaming in her head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Seriously, I’m getting robbed right now? Of all times? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, pal,” Jack straightened up, noticing the guy looked reedy - probably high on drugs or coming down from them. “Not a chance, why don’t you just run along and I won’t send you to the hospital—“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The guy shoved her and suddenly Jack was aware of how dark this street was, how it was the middle of the night, how distracted she was, and how she wasn’t carrying a weapon. Maybe her fight or flight instinct should’ve told her to run like hell, confirmed further with the glint of a knife she saw in her would-be attacker’s arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, alright, here,” she slowly handed the laptop toward him, taking a step back at the same time to stay out of the knife’s range, a million scenarios going through her head. Drugged out people were unpredictable. “Why don’t we both take a breath and—“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Federal Agent, freeze.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Agent </span>
  <em>
    <span>Motherfucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gibbs. Of course. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What a great impression Sloane, damsel in distress</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>target for druggies, idiot who can’t fight back.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her focus split to her would-be hero, which is the only reason she didn’t see the meth-head lunge at her. Her laptop fell to the ground with a crack and Jack was knocked off balance, trying to avoid that knife while falling face-first into the brick wall next to her - damn heels - and then she was pulled up against the musty frame of her attacker. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Grace thy name is Jacqueline.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A hostage situation. Not exactly the evening she’d hoped for. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Put the gun down or she dies!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sloane had a full view of Special Agent Gibbs in his element, and as distracting as being a hostage was she had to admit that it was an attractive look. Okay, maybe the knock on the head had her priorities a little mixed up. Add </span>
  <em>
    <span>get a possible concussion </span>
  </em>
  <span>to the list of fun first date ideas.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The whole interaction happened so fast - from running after a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hopeless</span>
  </em>
  <span> crush to the feeling of a knife at her throat - no wonder she couldn’t focus. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Through dazed eyes she watched as Gibbs relaxed the grip of his gun and put his free hand in the air, no longer aiming at the guy holding her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shoot him! </span>
  </em>
  <span>she wanted to yell, but Jack was frozen even as the images in front of her swam before her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, wait,” the bad guy said. “Uh. Give me the gun. Hand it over and I’ll let her go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack reflexively rolled her eyes. That sealed it, the guy was currently on something - no way could he expect to win a gun off a Fed in his right mind. Jack felt him shaking, his grip tightening and loosening, the dull knife skidding on her skin. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What was another scar?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Should she act, throw him off balance? No way he could fight back. Then again, druggies were strong as hell when high and they didn’t feel pain or fear like normal. She was stuck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack tried to make eye contact with Gibbs, to see if he’d nod to her, give her a sign - anything. But he was steady as a rock. He was also much, much closer to them. Sly son of a gun had been pushing in without the druggie noticing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Take a breath there, easy. I’ll hand this over, and you just ease off with the knife, al’right?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack tensed as he drew nearer, and her gut suddenly twisted as the druggie tensed as well, preparing for attack. In the back of her mind, she registered that this was the most she’d ever heard Gibbs speak, even after weeks of seeing him almost every day, and his voice was incredibly hot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was definitely concussed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a split second, no warning, and suddenly she was tripped over on the ground and the druggie lunged himself at Gibbs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Later she’d piece together exactly what had happened. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs, his gun not trained on the subject so as not to spook him, didn’t have time to aim and fire. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He barely had time to brace himself. He was tired, she remembered. A long day at work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bad guy, and she was betting it was meth he was on, had gone into full berserker mode and tackled an armed federal agent. Gibbs hit the ground, but first his head had cracked on a metal pole - a fact that she’d only connect with the sickening sound it had made when she was still struggling to get up - and off went the meth-head, sans computer, purse, gun, or anything, spooked by the sudden action and noise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he’d done plenty of damage, nonetheless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t remember talking to the 911 operator, but she could vividly recall crawling over the rough concrete to a too-still Gibbs, a veritable stranger who’d only tried to help, and softly stroking his silver-gray hair until the ambulance came, careful not to move him in case he was really hurt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>How did it come to this?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Three and a half hours, a cat scan, butterfly bandages, a wrist splint, two interviews by police, and countless crappy cups of coffee later, Jack was way past the end of her rope. It was just her luck somehow, to find the courage to just talk to a guy - and geez, having to find the </span>
  <em>
    <span>courage</span>
  </em>
  <span> at her age anyway - and have him nearly get killed over it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not to mention that she felt like utter crap. Slumped down in an uncomfortable hospital waiting room chair, lukewarm shit coffee in her hand and various aches and pains on the rest of her was nothing to how she was doubting herself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Lieutenant Jacqueline Sloane, PhD, let a damn meth-head get the jump on her.</span>
  </em>
  <span> At least that wasn’t a line in her obituary. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack let out a shaky sigh, not her first of the hectic night, and fortified herself. Gibbs. She hadn’t seen him since the ambulance ride in. He’d been unconscious the whole time - the whole time except for the fleeting second he’d cracked his eyes open after he’d fallen. He was trying to say something, she knew it. But she had no idea what. She had to find him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He'd helped her. He’d helped a stranger, risked his life, and he got hurt. And Jack knew it wasn’t her fault, but it sure felt like it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack took a dozen more minutes to gather herself. The room was still a little blurry from her almost-concussion, and she </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span> all over. Soon enough, she watched as a shift change occurred and walked up to the sweetest, most home-baked-cookies nurse she could find. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Excuse me, I’m looking for someone’s room - Gibbs is the last name.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you family dear?” The nurse put on her reading glasses and typed at her computer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you see, he saved me last night-“ Jack started.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, my-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A robbery, he tried to help and got himself hurt-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s awful, dear-“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I just want to see how he’s doing,” Jack finished with her best puppy eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just a stranger off the street, jumping in to save the day. How about that.” The nurse smiled at the thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hook, line, and sinker, thought Jack. “Yes ma’am.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Too bad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not family, so you can’t see him. Hospital policy. Now have a nice day, dearie. Feel better soon.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack watched, stunned, as the nurse came from around the station, patted her on the arm, and then left her standing there. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Too bad</span>
  </em>
  <span> - screw that! Jack looked around at the sparse 4am crowd and took a chance on the monitor - the info was still pulled up. ICU, room 407. Check. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this chapter has several changed and adapted moments from the film "While You Were Sleeping" which, again, I encourage everyone to go watch (preferably while drinking wine).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Family Interrogation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After a detour to the bathroom and another coffee, Jack walked confidently to the ICU floor and straight to Gibbs’ door. An air of confidence could get you anywhere, especially places you weren’t meant to be. The floor was quiet at 4am. Jack thought she blended in with the few other tired and worried people she passed. </p><p>Room 407. Jack saw him through the glass wall before she was ready and it shocked her. Her experiences in a hospital were one thing, but she’d never been on this side of it.</p><p>Gibbs was still as a stone, looking small and pale in the hospital bed, a bandage wrapped around his head. They’d changed him, of course, into hospital garb, and they’d washed and dressed the shallow cut that had run up his arm from the same knife that had left a new scar on Jack’s neck.</p><p>Jack took a moment to gather herself and walked into the room, noting that no one was paying attention to her. He was alone in the room. Two minutes ticked by and Jack was still standing at the foot of his bed, frozen in some sort of shock at seeing him like this, a wave of worry and regret and guilt nearly blacking out her other senses. </p><p>“Have a seat, dearie, he won’t be waking up just yet.”</p><p>The voice made her jump and turn, but it was a nurse. She looked young, too tired for her age. The nurse began taking his vitals as Jack took a seat, trying to be nonchalant. </p><p>“I’m Lacey, and I’ll be Agent Gibbs’ nurse tonight. Or, well, this morning. Your guy here got knocked pretty good. I take it you were there too?” she asked, nodding to Jack’s own bandages and splint on her left wrist. </p><p>“I was,” Jack offered, shifting in her seat. “He saved me.” Gibbs deserved all the hero credit she could give him. </p><p>“I bet.” Lacey finished her duties and paused on the way out. “His friend – Ducky I think he said? – should be here any time. They called him down in the ER.”</p><p>Jack didn’t have time to reply before the nurse was gone. <em> Shit. </em>A friend – someone who she’d have to explain what was going on. Maybe she should go, but how could she just leave him? And his friend deserved an explanation. It was her fault, after all.</p><p>Before she could decide what to do, an older man tottered in and began speaking. </p><p>“Jethro, dear boy, what have you done now? And,” the man Jack only knew as ‘possibly Ducky’ paused at her, “Who is this lovely young woman?”</p><p>Jack stood, feeling every injury throb at the movement, and smiled through a wince at the man despite herself. “Jacqueline Sloane. Jack. I – um, well he,” she gestured to Gibbs and gave up trying to explain. “I was getting mugged by a meth-head and Gibbs – I know him from the diner – he tried to stop it and then all hell broke loose. And now… I’m here. I snuck in.” She looked up at him empathetically. “I just wanted to make sure he was okay.”</p><p>“Ah,” the man nodded as if he heard this every day. “That sounds like Jethro.” He seemed to stutter, looking back and forth between them both before deciding on a course of action. He put down his coat and hat on a table and walked over to Jack. “Dr. Donald Mallard, friend of Jethro’s. Feel free to call me Ducky.”</p><p>Jack shook his hand, instantly feeling at ease in his presence. </p><p>“Are you alright?” Dr. Mallard gestured to her injuries. </p><p>“I’ll be fine,” Jack sat back down and watched Dr. Mallard walk around Gibbs’ bed, checking the exact same things that the nurse had before patting him gently on the arm. “Guy caught me off guard.”</p><p>“Hmm,” said Ducky. He pulled over the other chair to the opposite side of the bed. “I’m sure. Confrontations with drug addicts are always unpredictable.” </p><p>Jack couldn’t help but agree. They sat in silence for a few moments, watching Gibbs. Jack urged him silently to wake up and be fine. She regretted everything – if this wasn’t a sign that she made the wrong choice to talk to him, she didn’t know what it was.</p><p>Again, she wondered if she should go. And she fought with herself, but she couldn’t make herself get up and leave him. Even now she felt a connection to him, and she had some apologizing to do.</p><p>“I spoke with his doctor,” started Ducky softly. </p><p>Jack turned to him, not realizing how intently she’d been staring at Gibbs’ face, noticing now that the kind doctor had been studying hers.</p><p>“He sustained a major concussion, which is likely why he’s still unconscious. It doesn’t seem like he has any brain damage, but they will check him again in the morning.”</p><p>Jack nodded, taking in the information stoically. “Thank you for telling me. I don’t even – well. Thank you.”</p><p>“If you would like, I would be more than happy to take your information and give you a call when he wakes.” </p><p>The question was so genuine and concerned, and Jack was touched, but something tied her to the chair. She wasn’t going anywhere. How was she, a total stranger, supposed to explain this connection to Gibbs’ friend? </p><p>“Thanks, but I want to stay. If that’s alright – he just,” she looked at him again and decided to be honest. “I can’t just leave him.”</p><p>Ducky, endearing him to her forever, nodded and relaxed back into his chair, smiling. “You know, dear Jacqueline, he has that effect on people.”</p><p>-</p><p>Jack woke suddenly to a maelstrom of noise and pain. </p><p>“Hey! What the hell happened?” A skinny blonde woman was standing at the foot of Gibbs’ bed staring her down, not at all remorseful that she’d woken Jack. “Who are you?”</p><p>This woman could be Gibbs’ daughter or coworker, but whatever she was she obviously cared about him. Jack responded in a reflexive attempt to de-escalate the situation, wondering a little desperately where the kind Dr. Mallard had gone.</p><p>“Hi, I’m Jack Sloane,” Jack stood, wincing at the strained muscles from sleeping in a chair after getting knocked around by a meth-head. Her wrist throbbed. Not getting an introduction back, she continued. “Gibbs, I know him from – well, I was getting robbed and he stopped it and –” </p><p>“He had his gun. He’s a trained federal agent. And he’s in a <em> coma </em> or whatever, so forgive me if I don’t quite believe he was just knocked over by some rando and ended up here.”</p><p>Jack could practically see the woman’s hackles rise. She looked panicked and defensive, and she wasn’t hiding it well, constantly looking back at Gibbs’ face and crossing her arms. She was worried too, probably scared out of her mind at the state of him.</p><p>“Listen,” Jack paused for a name and was rewarded.</p><p>“Ellie Bishop. <em> Agent </em> Bishop.”</p><p>“Agent Bishop, he’s not in a coma, he was just concussed. There was a scuffle and a metal pole, and honestly there’s not much control in a situation with a meth-head and a knife.”</p><p>Bishop relaxed minutely. “He’s gonna be okay?”</p><p>“I think so. Dr. Mallard - uh, Ducky, said they were going to take more scans in the morning.” Jack just shrugged, wincing again at the pain in her wrist. She regretted not getting those pain pills. </p><p>“Where did Ducky go?”</p><p>Before Jack could answer, two more people came in the room. </p><p>“Hey, Ellie, what’s going on?” The shorter of the two walked right up to Bishop and touched her arm before looking at the bed and Jack. “And who is that?”</p><p>Jack opened her mouth to introduce herself again when the taller man jumped in. “That’s the woman from the scene. I read the report. You were getting robbed?”</p><p>Jack again turned to answer but the shorter one interjected. </p><p>“Gibbs got knocked out by a robber? That’s rough, McGee.”</p><p>Jack watched as Bishop shoved him slightly. “Shut up Nick. He was high. And Gibbs was trying to help.”</p><p>Once again the three turned to her, all no doubt with rapid-fire questions on their tongues, when Ducky walked back in and saved her from answering. </p><p>“Ah, I see the cavalry has arrived.” </p><p>Everyone turned to him, waiting for an update from the doctor. Obviously, Jack thought, they all knew each other from work. </p><p>“That reminds me – did you know that the term cavalry has been—”</p><p>“Ducky! How’s Gibbs?”</p><p>“Oh, well, he’s more than likely fine. Well, fine for him. Head trauma takes a toll on the body, but his scans have all come back negative.”</p><p>“Why is he still unconscious?” The tall one, McGee, asked. </p><p>Ducky sat back down in his chair. “The simple answer is trauma and exhaustion.”</p><p>The answer was echoed with silence, everyone in the room taking a long look at Gibbs. Jack wanted to ask what the not-simple answer was, but she suddenly felt uncomfortable and distinctly unwelcome and out of place. </p><p>Things like ‘free weekend’ and ‘of course this happened’ were mentioned, along with what apparently was a very long track record for Gibbs getting hurt. </p><p>That didn’t make Jack feel any less guilty. </p><p>She waited a few moments, staring at Gibbs’ face, wondering how the hell she’d ended up here. Gibbs obviously had people who cared, who had come here on their weekend off and looked like they were ready to wait on him to wake up.</p><p>Who did she have? The line on her emergency contact forms were blank. No roommates. No family. No significant other. Just a crappy consulting job, a bad apartment, and a crush that nearly got her stabbed and him killed. </p><p>Suddenly overwhelmed, Jack rose slowly and turned to the corner to grab her jacket and purse. This whole thing – this infatuation turned police report – it was a sign to get out. Maybe she</p><p>should pack up and move back to California. Failed at her job, failed at basic social skills, failed at being a trained Army Lieutenant in the face of a druggie.</p><p>If anything, getting robbed at knifepoint was just another sign that Jack was on the wrong path in life. Not that she knew what the right one was. Not that she had any more options. </p><p>“Are you leaving?” Bishop asked. </p><p>Jack paused, halfway to the door. “Uh, yeah,” and she cringed at her awkwardness, “I should be going. I need to, uh, get to work.”</p><p>“It’s Saturday,” the short one muttered suspiciously.</p><p>“Oh,” said Bishop, “Well, I guess we can call, if you want to—”</p><p>A noise from the bed froze them all in their tracks. It was almost comical, the five of them halting their various conversations to turn to Gibbs on the bed, his eyes open. </p><p>A beat of silence. </p><p>Then, all at once, they spoke.</p><p>Bishop. “Gibbs! You’re up!”</p><p>McGee. “I’ll get a nurse.”</p><p>Nick. “I guess this means there’s still work next week.”</p><p>Ducky. “Good to see you awake, Jethro.”</p><p>And, Jack. Silent and still as the eyes of Special Agent Jethro Gibbs landed on her from across the room, his face confused. She watched him open his mouth. </p><p>“What’re you doin’ here?” his voice cracked. </p><p>Jack was out the door before anyone could say a word.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. White Walls and Bullshit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Given his history with waking up in hospital rooms, Gibbs was surprised that very little time had passed since he had been admitted. It took him longer to remember what had landed him in the room in the first place, and even longer to piece together that that woman - that <em> Dr. Sloane </em> - had been the one in trouble, and that she’d been there while he’d been unconscious all night. </p><p>
  <em> Well, that went down like a lead balloon.  </em>
</p><p>He thought all of this under the chorus of his team chatting to him and themselves and the loud throbbing at the back of his skull. He tamped down his embarrassment with the ease of years of practice in unwanted vulnerability and turned slightly to the calm force that was Ducky.</p><p>An eyebrow raise asked his question and quieted the herd all at once. Ducky shooed the team out into the hall, citing the need for quiet, and Gibbs was thankful.</p><p>Ducky was helpfully concise upon his return. </p><p>“Jethro, glad to see you conscious. It has been a disconcerting few hours. You have a concussion and a long new scar on your arm from the knife of a druggie. Both problems annoying and painful, but thankfully able to heal with little permanent damage.”</p><p>“The hell happened?”</p><p>“What is the last you remember?”</p><p>Gibbs grunted about a druggie and a knife and a woman, and Ducky filled in the rest of the blanks as best he could based on the police report. “The young woman in question seemed okay. Her injuries were mild.”</p><p>Gibbs could see the question in his eyes and he rolled his, regretting the pain at the motion. </p><p>“She’s just a woman I helped. Tried to help.” He sighed, suddenly too conscious and aware for his liking. “Failed to help. You said she was hurt?”</p><p>Ducky sat back down and nodded with some hesitation. “Mildly, Jethro. What looked like a mildly sprained wrist and a few scrapes. She slept here a few hours before the team arrived.”</p><p>Gibbs glanced out the glass partition, watching his team argue quietly over what to do. No doubt that they would take their weekend to track down a rogue drug addict. He watched as McGee gestured to the elevator, giving out orders and pulling out his phone to coordinate forces. Part of him wanted to tell them to stand down, but he knew better than that. </p><p>Sensing he was feeling the effects of the past several hours more deeply, Ducky shifted in his seat to settle in. Before Gibbs could drift off, Ducky had one last point to make.</p><p>“You did help her, Jethro. From what she told me, it could have ended much worse for you both. And she stayed here to wait on you, looking quite smitten if I do say so myself.”</p><p>Gibbs didn’t bother to follow up that comment and let sleep reclaim him. </p><p>-</p><p>The doctors wanted to keep him for another day, and he could hardly find the energy to move his head so he didn’t fight back. Yet. But even a few hours after Ducky finally left to go check in at the office, Gibbs was growing restless. </p><p>A knock on the door announced his visitor and pulled his attention from a repeat western on TV. </p><p>“Heya, Popeye. I was in the area, heard you were laid up. What’d you get into now?”</p><p>Gibbs couldn’t begin to number the lies in her introduction. He had no doubt that Ducky or Leon had caught Grace up on what had happened and she decided to <em> swing on by </em> to check up on him. </p><p>He shifted, winced. There was no running from this. </p><p>Grace continued to talk. “What is this, your ninth major concussion? Is the 10th one free, deli punch-card style?”</p><p>Gibbs groaned at her joke. “Grace.” </p><p>“Seriously, Gibbs, are you okay?” Grace sat gingerly in the chair next to him, looking equally concerned and full of mirth.</p><p>“Fine, Grace. Just a bump on tha’ head.”</p><p>She hummed. “Facing down a knife-wielding robber with a hostage and not winning doesn’t sound like a normal night for you, Gibbs. Or even a normal fight. What the hell happened?”</p><p>Gibbs felt more than unsettled. Being trapped in a hospital room with no strength and now bombarded with a hostile therapy session. He wished for the little button he could hit for more morphine, but they were keeping it light with his history. </p><p>“Was walkin’ home from the diner. Heard yellin’. Turned around ‘n tried to help.”</p><p>“You pulled your gun?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Grace waited for a beat. “And,” she drug the word out, “this was just a random woman?”</p><p>Gibbs eyed her. He hated when she did that. “You know it wasn’t. You read the report, or got told.”</p><p>“Gibbs! This means something! This woman you suddenly have a connection to and are afraid of connecting <em> with </em> was <em> in danger </em> and everything turned out fine!” </p><p>Suddenly exasperated, Gibbs nearly shouted. “Take a look around Grace! Everything is <em> not </em> fine! I’m <em> here </em> and she - she - she <em> was </em> hurt, for God’s sake.” His head throbbed in time with his words.</p><p>“How was she hurt?” The question was quiet but prodding. Grace knew exactly how to guide his energy and anger into more talking.</p><p>Gibbs relaxed slightly, moving from tension to fidgeting. “Ducky said she, uh, hurt her wrist. Sprained. And I know she got knocked on the head too. And a knife to her throat. Probably cut there.”</p><p>“So she wasn’t stabbed, beated, or viciously maimed?”</p><p>Gibbs scoffed. “What’s your <em> point </em> , Doc?” </p><p>“That you did help. That the police report, in her own words, says that without you she could’ve been killed.”</p><p>Gibbs let a beat go by. “Or she would’nt’a been there at all,” he muttered. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>With every ounce of reluctance he could muster, Gibbs looked at Grace again. “She was followin’ me. Outta the diner.”</p><p>He was met with a blank stare, and he blamed his forthrightness on his concussion.</p><p>“I think she wanted ta’ talk to me. Shoulda said somethin’ there. Almost did, but I was out of it tired after this week and I thought, hey, maybe next time, but instead she ran out after me and this happened.”</p><p>Grace blinked. And stared more. Then blinked again. “That. Sucks.” she finally said.</p><p>Gibbs stared back. “What,” he said flatly. </p><p>“That’s it Gibbs - that <em> just sucks </em> . It’s not some scary omen that things are bound to go wrong, or that you’re at fault for that matter. There’s no one to point fingers at besides the druggie that was out to rob <em> anyone </em> that night.” Grace sat back, satisfied in having made her point. “You know we can play the what-if game all night. What if she hadn’t followed you, and gotten mugged and hurt when she left later? What if something worse happened to one of you? There’s no use in it, Gibbs. What happened last night sucked, and now you’re going to move on.” </p><p>He sat with her words for a minute. They sounded too good to be true, but he put enough trust in her to believe what she said most of the time. </p><p>“Move on is right. This ‘prolly scared her off me for good. Ya shoulda seen her run off this morning when I woke up.”</p><p>Delight sprang to Grace’s face and she sat forward once again. “She stayed here last night? Gibbs! You went all knight in shining armor to save her - there’s no way she’d give up now!”</p><p>Grace continued to tease him until he fell back asleep, needing the rest to allow his head to heal. It may have helped that visions of Dr. Sloane greeted him in his dreams.</p><p>-</p><p>Sure, he had his list of vices, but where the hell had they taken him recently? That was the point of them - stagnation. A routine. A distraction from, <em> ah hell be honest Jethro </em>, from loneliness. </p><p>The concept of dating did nothing for him. Twenty years ago it was an escape, a way to try and fill the void left behind. Then it was a new habit, a new vice. But it soured, and he changed, and no one had turned his head or made him interested in years and years. </p><p>Until this blonde, beautiful stranger showed up at his diner and invaded his mind. And then nearly got stabbed. </p><p>Obviously, he had to find her again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'll be posting a little more frequently since I figure everyone could use a little happiness during this time of social distancing and anxiety. remember, you aren't alone in this!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Sometimes, You Must Freak Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A point of crisis. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is how Jack would frame her current frame of mind, her situation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just 24 hours before, she was full of resolve and hope. She was going to take the chance, talk to the guy, maybe score a date or two, and then be able to focus on her work and develop her new career. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now? Now she was collapsed on her couch, covered in grime, with a new scar to grace her neck and a sprained wrist. Exhausted. Defeated. Combined with a heaping weight of regret and embarrassment pressing on her chest. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>ran away</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p><span>A crisis point because she didn’t know what to do next. If Jack were to step back from the situation, she’d recognize a sort of delayed or prolonged shock. She was tempted to laugh off her self diagnosis – citing the </span><em><span>literal</span></em> <em><span>torture</span></em><span> she’d been through and survived – but she couldn’t help her body’s response. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>She shivered on the couch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leaving that hospital room was the only option she saw. Fight or flight told her to run. The new people, Gibbs unconscious, being the outsider in a room of worried and armed agents. Her anxiety peaked well before Gibbs cracked his eyes open, serving as the final nail in the coffin. Get the hell out of there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She went through a list in her head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shouldn’t have let this little crush become so important. Should’ve asked Gibbs out in the diner, a well-lit location devoid of meth heads wanting to rob her. Should’ve fought back more against the reedy little shit, broken his nose and taken a stab wound like a woman. Should’ve minded her own business, done her work instead of staring at a stranger in a diner for weeks at a time. Should’ve stayed in California. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Should’ve stayed in the hospital room when he woke up.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But no. She ran out of the building, caught the first cab she found, and was home within twenty minutes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Home. This apartment didn’t feel like home to her, not yet. Home was California, it was friends and sunny days at the beach and recovery. D.C. was… an opportunity. A change. She didn’t know if it was a good one or not, not anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At this moment, home was at least a barrier between her and the rest of the world; between her and a man with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen laying in a hospital bed. A temporary sanctuary, yes, but still echoing empty with only the sound of her breathing to keep her company. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe I should get a cat.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing, Jack sat up on her cheap IKEA couch and her eyes lighted upon her purse. She’d dropped it unceremoniously on her coffee table but now she could see it was scuffed. Several deep scratches ran up the side, scoring the fake leather beyond repair. This must’ve been when she was knocked down, or when she was shoved into the brick wall. Maybe both. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her laptop was in an evidence bag someplace, maybe in a lab being dusted for prints. She knew it was cracked and probably broken, but she wanted it back. She wanted the chance to salvage something from it, anything - she didn’t want to lose something from what happened. Something tangible. Jack wondered if, lying next to her computer in some cold lab, was the knife she was assaulted with, that Gibbs was threatened with. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bandage on her neck itched. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her wrist throbbed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This went exactly the way I expected</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Helpless, Jack giggled uncontrollably, the sound bouncing off the empty, too-white walls around her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her apartment was cold, too. She expected as much moving to D.C. in the middle of winter, but Jack couldn’t get warm. Maybe she was used to California weather. Maybe it was the Gibbs situation. Maybe it was the lack of insulation around the one window and the faulty radiator in her bathroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After bolting from the hospital, Jack holed herself up. She didn’t have the energy to leave, and she didn’t want to go out with a bandage on her neck and a splint on her wrist anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She felt like shit. Chinese food and pizza sustained her, and she had plenty of coffee and sugar to stay alive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She spent her time watching tv and painfully composing emails on her phone to her liaison at the consulting place, explaining that yes, her computer with her files was currently a part of an active criminal investigation and, yes, she expected to have her laptop returned soon enough with the files intact and, no, Josh, she didn’t have it all saved to the cloud because she didn’t expect to get mugged and knifed while trying to ask a guy out on a date. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And oh, by the way, don’t worry I’m fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought with only a little bitterness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack called the new therapist and set up an appointment, her one rational attempt to pick up the shreds of her expectations and get back on track. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack’s phone rang halfway through a horrible Hallmark movie she was half-mocking and half sad about. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this Jacqueline Sloane?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please hold for Director Vance.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jack thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Jack?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, Leon. Long time no talk.” Jack hid her face in her hand, already cringing at this change of events. Director of NCIS? Hell, it really had been a while.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You could say that,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jack heard him sigh deeply over the line. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I gotta say, Jack, when I saw your name on this report I didn’t believe it. You and Gibbs—”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know Gibbs?” Jack immediately regretted blurting out the question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vance waited a beat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes, yes I do. I’m his boss. And his friend.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack sank back into the couch, not for the first time wanting to disappear completely into the myriad of pillows and blankets, surrounding herself with some semblance of comfort and protection. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great.” The mutter was unintentional and Jack tried to change the subject. “Well, have they caught the guy yet? Can I get my laptop back now? I need to get back to work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I didn’t even know you were in D.C. now. How long have you been here?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A few months. Got a consulting gig that was location dependent – I’ll have an office space some time next year.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I thought you were committed to staying in California. What happened to that teaching job you had lined up? I think the last time we talked – when I offered to refer you to the California office – when was that?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Three years ago.” Jack supplied quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You said you were in love with the beach. There was talk of the sunshine and the people – I gotta say, Jack, D.C. is pretty far from bright and sunny California.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Things change, Leon.” Her shrug was audible, but she owned it. This was her friend, after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And so you move here and run into </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gibbs</span>
  <em>
    <span> of all people? Hell, Jack, what are the odds?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack desperately wanted to ask more about him, but she knew it wasn’t the time. Besides, Leon being his boss… who knew what his opinion would entail. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>run into</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. I just saw him at this diner… every day… for like two months.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And you went from that to getting mugged together?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a long, pathetic story.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Jack… I may be the director of NCIS but Gibbs is the agency’s backbone, in more than one way. Even more so, he’s my friend. So if you’re going to do this thing, don’t hurt him.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Leon—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Believe me,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he interrupted. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll tell him the same thing.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But!—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Jack I’ve got to go, let’s talk soon Jack.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Click. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He would tell Gibbs the same thing?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jack was mortified. Re-mortified. It felt like high school all over again. Or, hell, it felt like the hospital room. Just as she was coming to the conclusion that this crush was a crazy tangent her brain latched on to in lieu of committing to her shitty job and not knowing anyone in a new city, Leon “I’m his boss and friend” Vance swoops in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not that she would normally object to that situation. But this was wildly different than having her six in the desert, or on her recovery journey. This was… embarrassing as hell.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I titled this chapter weeks ago, but it seems very relevant right now</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Paperwork and Pining</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The hospital released Gibbs when Gibbs decided it was time to go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He judged this on his ability to stand up without the room spinning and eat food without feeling like he was going to die. Admittedly, it only took the weekend. And, coincidentally, it lined up with his doctor’s orders as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe it’s the ninth (or however many) concussions in a lifetime that gets easier to shake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s back at his desk on Monday morning, more than willing to stay there for the time being. He has paperwork, after all. And if he was honest with himself - which he was more often than not these days - he was still tired from the week before. Plus, Gibbs knows the power of the team leader being out of commission to bring a team together, which is what his team needed right then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gibbs! You’re back! How are you?” Bishop greeted him first, the earliest to arrive after him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He worried about her. Probably more than he should, but she wasn’t always as on track and light as she used to be. Enough bad had happened to her that she was pushing her boundaries for good and bad, and didn’t seem to care much how it affected her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Reminded Gibbs of himself, which scared the hell out of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine. Desk duty. Paperwork.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bishop nodded and Gibbs sipped his coffee. Back to normal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At noon his team gathered around his desk. Playing exasperated he looked up at them, eyebrow fully raised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, boss…” McGee started, then swallowed. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was heartening to see that he still responded when the gaze focused on him. The beat of silence was quickly broken by Torres throwing his hands up in frustration. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We haven’t caught the guy yet.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The prints came back negative, and Kasie couldn’t find anything else on the laptop or the knife,” Bishop added.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have LEOs canvassing known homeless and addicted populations with the sketch and description,” said McGee. “Nothing yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Morgues and prisons?” Gibbs prompted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No reported matches.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The team seemed at a loss. There was nothing in Gibbs that said to give up, but this case wasn’t screaming at him like other attacks did. Yes, he wanted the bastard behind bars and sobered up. But he knew the chances of finding the guy anyway. A white, drugged out, likely homeless man was easy to lose in this kind of city. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go get lunch. Come back fresh for cold cases.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His team glanced at each other. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But, Gibbs, shouldn’t we-”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> be doin’ what I say you should be doin’, and that means cold cases, after lunch, until we get a new case.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They hesitated in front of his desk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go!” Gibbs swept his hand out as they scattered, likely confused at the chance for an outside lunch and minimal yelling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once they left the bullpen, Gibbs rubbed his hands over his face. His head hurt, his bones ached, and he didn’t know what he wanted aside from knowing it wasn’t more paperwork and a headache.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His sixth sense notified him that he was needed somewhere, and since they weren’t on a case he headed to Leon’s office. Or, more realistically, he was restless and went to talk to his friend. Under the guise of work. Of course. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a much needed refill of dark, strong coffee. This particular Monday was not a day to consciously scale back on caffeine consumption. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gibbs, good.” Leon motioned him in his office, not that it was needed. “I was just about to call you up here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs nodded, buying time by looking everywhere but directly at Leon, pulling something out of thin air he had been wanting to bring up anyway. Now was as good a time as any. “We need someone, Leon. On the team. A Dr. Grace for the whole damn department.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vance leveled a look at him, willing to change his intended subject. “I thought I knew your opinions on psychologists.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ya, they’re worthless. The ones that just come in for a day after something bad happens. My team can get past someone like that easy, and if they </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> help they’re gone too soon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gibbs,” Vance said, shifting in his seat. “Disregarding the admission that your team manipulates our psych division, I get where you’re coming from - and I’m not opposed. A resident psych lead could prove invaluable on cases, especially since Dr. Mallard has moved into semi-retirement on those matters. But what brought this on now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs shrugged, feeling entirely out of his element, but it was important. Even if his personal views on mental health support had taken a sharp left turn in the last few years, it was still important, and he knew they needed it. Ducky had been a sounding board for everyone for decades, and Palmer was nearly as good - but they couldn’t keep putting that kind of pressure on him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My team is young and they struggle. Can’t tell me about everything - an’ I don’t wanna hear it all - so we need someone else. For support. On the little stuff. And to see if they’re not okay.” Doing the work of explaining himself was uncomfortable at best, but he had caffeine and a recovering concussion fueling his day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leon nodded and made an agreeable noise. “Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting you’d say when you walked in, but I’m glad you think so. I have someone in mind actually. I’ll keep you updated.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs ducked his head, ready to head out, still restless and tired, but was stopped by Leon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, about Jack.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who?” he played dumb. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gibbs, I know you know her. Hard to miss her name in a police report concerning the attack on one of my agents.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Uncomfortable to the extreme at discussing the personal, Gibbs rocked back and forth on his feet, making like he wanted to bolt from the room. “I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> her.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gibbs - </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>know her, I know what she’s been through, and if you--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not talkin’ about it Leon.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope.” He emphasized with a head shake and a hand half raised, then he left in a flash. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bullpen was nearly deserted. Paperwork had a way of never ending when it was the only thing to do, and the computer screen had induced a headache to the point that he’d accepted it as reality. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He itched to get into the field, to catch a case and take his mind off of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dr. Jack Sloane</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he could tell he shouldn’t be holding a gun when he still can’t quite move his head fast without the scenery doubling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sloane. Vance said he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> her. Was she Navy? Marine? </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs waited a beat. Then one more. Then he slowly looked around, suddenly self-conscious in the darkness of the bullpen. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he pulled up the search-thingy and typed in her name, not knowing what to expect.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Half an hour later, he closes the search-thingy and the info stuff.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Honorably discharged from the Army </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lieutenant</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jacqueline Slone. A decade ago, a POW. Psychologist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs sits with the information for a little while. He didn’t go too deep, didn’t open anything too personal, but this just made him more… curious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had to talk to her again. Well, really, he had to talk to her for the first time, uninterrupted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this is like some sleepless in seattle slowborn you guys</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Major Meltdown, The Minor Realization</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Four nights after the incident, which is how she was referring to it, Jack managed to clean up and act like a human. She gathered her clothing to wash, shook out the crumbs from her blankets, and threw away the assorted trash in her living room. Her wrist ached deeply, and she was actively pushing down memories of the last wrist injury she had dealt with. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The shallow cut on the side of her neck was itching like crazy, adding to her discomfort and continual state of anxiety and restlessness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack’s internal psychologist-heal-thyself once again showed itself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Name what you’re feeling. Face it. Try to confront it. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The self-direction made her pause, hesitating before hitting </span>
  <em>
    <span>Start</span>
  </em>
  <span> on her washer and standing still as it began to fill with water. How did she feel? What was the base emotion, the one all the others were orbiting? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sad. She just felt… sad. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, hell, why not</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were the overt, surface level issues in her life that anyone could see. A single woman in her late forties who just moved across the country for what seems now like a bad job opportunity. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A woman so ostracized from her friends that she only got a call once her name ended up in a police report. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A woman who knows almost no one in her new life, who failed so dramatically at trying to ask someone out that she ended up in the hospital. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then the man woke up from a coma just to reject my presence in his hospital room. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The underlying issues – the things that were more private and less publicly humiliating – those were a different beast. The real reason she left California, the trauma of her past, the reasons she had three night lights in her bedroom and a gun in her bedside table. The desperate need for change warring with her fight for stability. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Idly she wandered into her kitchen. If it could be called a kitchen. It was barely a kitchenette – a tiny nook in a hallway between the living area and the small bedroom. Blindly, Jack filled her kettle and placed it on the stove, leaning on the opposite cabinet while it heated up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What was her next move? Was it time to give up? She could, technically, quit the consulting position. She’d been hired as-needed for the beginning, there wasn’t a contract to break. But where would she go? Back to California? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Back to what, exactly?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack sighed, annoyed by her own dramatics. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She should stay. Practicality and experience told her to stay, not run and hide. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Like you’re doing right now</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “This too shall pass,” and all of that. In time, Gibbs would be forgotten, her job would become permanent and stable, and it would be okay. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs. Now the thought of him made her scoff – an improvement from wanting to bury her head under every blanket in her possession to escape the embarrassment. She had fallen for a damn </span>
  <em>
    <span>stranger</span>
  </em>
  <span> like she was the dumb protagonist in a romantic comedy. Oh. He was handsome and had a dangerous and heroic job. He was kind, he treated people with respect who deserved it. He was funny, when he let his guard down… he was selfless, and the people around him all loved him. He was alone, just like her, and had been through enough shit that they would understand each other – </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stopped herself, caught on a word. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Would</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That was the kicker. All of the attractive qualities present in Leroy Jethro Gibbs was one thing, but this potential for a relationship was built up in her head to the point of delusion! </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack might as well be thinking about white dresses and happily ever after if she thought they’d be perfect for each other!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For all she really knew, he could be married. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Without a ring?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Or he could be a horrible person in private. </span>
  <em>
    <span>With those friends? And that job?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He could have weird hobbies or a drinking problem or hate blondes… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Or he could be wonderful, just like her gut was saying. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, she’d practically went all single-white-female on him. No wonder this had ended before it began, it was probably a blessing in disguise. The disguise of a horrible, embarrassing, petrifying case of emotional insanity. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hard sound of her mug hitting the countertop too hard jolted her from her thoughts. She poured out her tea, hoping the chamomile would soothe her internal insanity. Everything was up in the air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yes, tea and a good night’s sleep would have to do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack sat alone in a nondescript waiting room and took in the ubiquitous items every therapist’s office had. A white noise machine, simple houseplants, outdated magazines. The healing mark on her neck itched like crazy, and she wanted nothing more than to scratch it like crazy lest the sensation make her crawl out of her skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been a week since the </span>
  <em>
    <span>incident</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she had managed to snag Dr. Confalone’s last available spot on a Friday afternoon. Jack wondered where she should start in introducing herself. She’d forwarded Dr. Confalone her file which held most of her background, and there wasn’t anything in there that needed to be addressed right away. She needed to talk about right </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, about her decided craziness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jacqueline?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack stood and followed the short brunette into her office and chose the comfortable couch to sit on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright Jacqueline-”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jack is fine.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jack it is. Jack, call me Grace. What brings you in to see me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She got straight to the point, and Jack immediately liked the woman. She started at the last logical place - her move from California. She filled Grace in on her disappointment at the college, her decision to accept the consulting job and now how it hadn’t worked like she’d expected. She talked about her crappy apartment, her isolation in a new city, and about how she spent a lot of time at a little diner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Throughout her speech, Grace listened intently and took the occasional note. At the mention of the diner, she hummed and Jack almost stopped to ask on it, but pushed on to talk about the embarrassment of her recent obsession. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I’m going insane. Or it’s some deflection from all the stress of moving and the new job, but I’ve been…” she sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?” Grace prodded, not unkindly but with some force that Jack appreciated. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Crushing. Hardcore crushing on a stranger. To the point of distraction. Actually, to the point of getting jumped by a meth head and nearly killed, but that’s beside the point.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grace’s eyes widened, but Jack wasn’t looking, fully absorbed in getting her rant out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen. Grace. I know we just met, you don’t know me that well yet. I’ve got a lot of baggage, even the stuff I’m over. But I move here and this guy - </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gibbs</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’s like - he’s tall, handsome, and I can just </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’s an absolute stubborn shit but I know that he’s funny, and he’s smart and he has a risky job but the problem here is obvious and it’s that I only know all of this because for the last two months I’ve practically stalked him every time he showed up at the diner, and I’ve eavesdropped, and I even Googled him, and the point is - the point is - the </span>
  <em>
    <span>point</span>
  </em>
  <span>, is that I’ve gone completely bonkers over him and I might be going just a little insane.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack finally looked back at her new therapist, wondering distantly if she was about to be reported in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>single-white-female</span>
  </em>
  <span> kind of way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grace just looked at her a beat too long. “You’re kidding.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack stared at her blankly, taking in the slow spread of a smile across her face. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grace laughed once, uncontrolled and helpless, and tried to tuck her smile away. “I am, um, f</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>familiar with the name. Gibbs. I have a lot of friends at NCIS, actually, and I… consult with them from time to time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack’s jaw dropped. “So you know Gibbs.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grace nodded once. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Leon?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright. Great. Well. Once more question, can you recommend any good bridges around here to jump off of?” Jack covered her face with her hands, leaning back into the couch, completely giving up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grace just laughed, taking the joke for what it was. “Afraid not, but I’ll do you one better!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack looked over her fingers warily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is my professional opinion that you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> insane, and that you and </span>
  <em>
    <span>this guy</span>
  </em>
  <span> actually have quite a bit in common - including getting into and out of near death experiences with barely a scratch and a thought of it.” Grace slumped back in her chair for emphasis. “Hell, you’re practically a match made in heaven.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack cracked a smile at the heavy irony in Grace’s voice. Maybe this was gonna be okay after all? At least she wasn’t crazy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well. Maybe she should ask for that in writing.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>don't let my avatar picture change freak you out! I'm still me! I was just feeling Moira Rose at the moment.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. I Feel Like I Know You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>After some discreet, </span>
  <em>
    <span>question-my-motives-and-die</span>
  </em>
  <span> sneaking around, Gibbs was in possession of the evidence pertaining to Case No. 55789903. Jack’s laptop was on his desk in an evidence bag. He was ignoring it, trying to focus on anything else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time he’d gotten out of Leon’s office on Monday, it was only minutes before they caught a live case. It took three days to hunt down the killer and now they were processing and making the case air tight for JAG to take care of. Gibbs was reading over the reports personally - any Marine murdered by her husband deserves justice to its fullest extent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the laptop kept pulling his attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This week had been odd as hell and he was tired of it. He’d gotten a cryptic phone call from Grace on Tuesday. She had sounded twitchy, like she knew something he didn’t, even as she checked up on him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leon had been actively avoiding him, so naturally that meant he was constantly hovering to cover his tracks. Gibbs knew that Leon and Jack had some sort of history - </span>
  <em>
    <span>platonic</span>
  </em>
  <span> history, but that didn’t mean he had to act all twitchy about it too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was hard enough to maintain his in-charge exterior, especially to save face post-concussion and failed confrontation with a druggie, and now his twitchy, meddling friends were making everything difficult. This was almost as bad as when he had Fornell </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>Phil invading his life at the same time. The two of them could turn a simple steak dinner awkward and personal at the drop of a hat, and now his more sane friends were going cuckoo at nothing. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing, it was nothing. Except it was something, and it was a something that even his team was catching on to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced at the laptop again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t nothing. This whole mess could’a been solved </span>
  <em>
    <span>weeks</span>
  </em>
  <span> ago had he not been a coward and just talked to her. But here he was, a week post-concussion and </span>
  <em>
    <span>pining</span>
  </em>
  <span> and planning and getting his god-damned, black-hearted hopes up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs couldn’t even get his usual coffee in peace because he was too tense each time he entered the diner, both relieved and disappointed each time Jack wasn’t there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Elaine was there, and she’d give him an extra look. On Thursday she went so far as to ask him where “the nice Jack had gone” because she hadn’t been in all week. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t worried to hear that news. Not one bit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course she hadn’t been in, he rationalized. She didn’t have her laptop. She couldn’t work, so she didn’t have reason to go to the diner. No reason at all. And he had no reason to pull her number from the police report and call and check in on her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the least he could do was return her property to her in person. Maybe apologize for letting the situation get out of hand. And for ending up in the hospital instead of taking that rat bastard down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the nice thing to do, really. The least he could manage. Returning her laptop. Rescuing it and her from weeks of cold case evidence processing. Without his intervention, she maybe would’ve never gotten it back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, yeah. Whatever. He’d make sure she get it, apologize for screwing up when she was mugged, make sure she was okay, and high tail it out of there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Easy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took awhile for him to talk himself into it, mainly because he was really good at talking himself out of it. Just like he did with not approaching her for weeks at the diner, just like he did for the past few days claiming he was ‘too busy’ with the case.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On Thursday night, he even drove past her apartment building. Or, according to the directions he looked up that day, he did. Or at least the directions that he persuaded Kasie to give him. Gibbs didn’t actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the building. Just… drove past it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Supposedly. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Coward</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hadn’t gone to the diner at all, according to Elaine. Yes, it could be because she couldn’t work without her laptop. But what if she was avoiding it - avoiding </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> - after what happened? What if she was hurt more than she let on to Ducky? What if she high-tailed it out of Dodge because the guy she was about to tell off for practically stalking her at the diner nearly ended up getting her killed?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Screw it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll find out when I see her. Can’t just leave it be forever.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Naturally he waited until Friday. A week since the incident, a week with no answers. A week of trying to get his head on straight and talk himself into going to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He swung by his house first, because he’d gone a little nutty in the head (maybe he should’ve stayed under observation longer last week?) but he was compelled to change his shirt. Just because he spilled some coffee on it earlier that day, and who shows up to a semi-stranger’s house with a stain on their shirt? </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He picked up the blue one - the one that he always gets compliments on, the one that when he wears it, women tend to smile at him a little longer - completely by coincidence. And maybe he fixed his hair too, just ‘cause it was stickin’ up funny. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nuthin’ weird about that. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nothing to do with the amount of times he’d run his fingers through it in the last few hours before he left. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The apartment building is unremarkable. There’s some dead plants out front, their color matching the monochrome exterior almost exactly. It didn’t look like a place Lieutenant Dr. Jacqueline Sloane would choose to live. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe. Maybe not. It’s not as if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> her, but he’s got a gut feeling that this place wasn’t her first choice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs walks up the stairs to the entryway and finds her name, written in runny ink on a scrap of paper, and hits the buzzer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And waits. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The seconds tick by and he nearly turns away. What if she isn’t home? What if she is home, but isn’t alone or doesn’t want visitors? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or, more likely, what if she </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> home alone and isn’t expecting anyone, so she ignores a random buzzer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waits another beat, then buzzes again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>The staticky voice of Sloane came over the mic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs realized right then that they hadn’t ever said two words to each other. There was some talking when she had a knife to her throat, from what he could remember, but they’d never spoken. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And here he was all nervous about it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jack Sloane?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Who’s asking?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs smiled at her tone. Just in two words over a shaky connection and she had already established her dominance in the situation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jethro Gibbs. I believe we met last week?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A pause.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another pause. Gibbs smirked, shifting back and forth on his feet as he felt more comfortable even through the connection of a buzzer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I come up, Sloane?” The name came out naturally, and he barely registered it past how right it felt to say. “Got your laptop.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Uh.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>A thunk. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Uh, yeah. Yeah. Give me. Give me two minutes. Or less! And I’ll buzz you up. Yes. Yes! Two minutes!”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs smiled. He smiled wide as hell, imagining the chaos of whatever was going on in her apartment right then. He couldn’t wait to actually meet her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, come on Jethro. Pull yourself together.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>one more chapter to go!! hang in there, social-distancing heroes!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Nice to Meet You, I’m in Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>An extra long, final chapter for you all :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It had been days since she decided she was insane, despite what Grace had told her. Which, really, wasn’t that long to get used to the idea. But here she was, in her apartment, a crazy person. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In what </span>
  <em>
    <span>universe</span>
  </em>
  <span> could she have predicted what happened in the past few months? In the past </span>
  <em>
    <span>week?</span>
  </em>
  <span> In what mindset was she to accept that this is what her life had come to?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was easier to accept her insanity and move on. Live in the moment, and all that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack had calmed down a bit from the height of her chaotic emotions, having maintained a clean (sad, lonely) living space and done some work on her phone in the last few days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even that was mostly menial tasks - emails, reminding her boss that yes, her computer was still in evidence somewhere and, yes, she’d have it back soon. Probably. Or she’d have to go get a new one. The more she made her excuses, as valid as they were, the more she hated this job. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe it was a sign. Hitting her in the face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So she started making a list of options. She didn’t have many, but the range was startling. One was to go running back to California, beg on her knees for an adjunct job. Another was to quit her job and stick it out here in D.C. The range of ideas held the common theme - jobless and pathetic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe Washington was the right place for her, after all. Maybe all the bullshit she’d put up with in the last year, from losing her dream job to descending into madness - maybe it was to lead up to this... moment of extreme insanity only to land her in the best possible place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe she </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> call Leon back about that job offer he mentioned a few days ago. She had a feeling that a position at NCIS might become home for her. What better idea than to work with an old friend who knows your new therapist, and the man you nearly got killed when you tried to ask him out? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her door buzzes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack wasn’t expecting anyone. Thinking it was just a kid buzzing doors to stir up annoyance or a poorly aimed press to someone else’s door, she ignored it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then the buzz sounded again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack rolled her eyes and unfolded from her slump on the couch. She leaned against the buzzer, her pavlovian response kicking in and deciding to get Chinese delivery later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Jack Sloane?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Wanting to run off any randos off the street, she put on her best </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t fuck with me</span>
  </em>
  <span> voice to reply. “Who’s asking?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Jethro Gibbs. I believe we met last week?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Oh.” Oh! </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her brain stuttered. Maybe went entirely offline, startled out of limbo with his voice at her door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Can I come up, Sloane?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Can he come up? God, yes.</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Got your laptop.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, wait - she hadn’t left her apartment in days. Had she combed her hair today? In the last week?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh,” Jack replied intelligently. She shifted, knocking an empty box against the wall and nearly toppling over. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. Give me. Give me two minutes. Or less! And I’ll buzz you up. Yes. Yes! Two minutes!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack clicked off her buzzer and nearly screamed as she hightailed it to her bathroom. Two minutes? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Two minutes?</span>
  </em>
  <span> How could she fix - she looked in the mirror - </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>in two minutes?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Damage control, Sloane. Hair. Teeth. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She combed out her hair as best she could, suddenly regretting its length and forming a grudge at everything below her shoulders. She hurried through a quick brush and mouthwash rinse, and then she saw the huge coffee stain on her sweatshirt. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hell is real and I am in it. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack whipped the sweatshirt over her head and grabbed a simple black shirt out of the pile of clean laundry in the hall as she went back to the main room. Her sweatpants would have to do. </span>
  <em>
    <span>All </span>
  </em>
  <span>of this would have to do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jethro Gibbs was about to be in her apartment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wildly she looked around her apartment like she expected to see a disaster. She’d just cleaned it the day before, but an unexpected guest had a tendency to highlight any flaws. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack shook her head. It had to have been two minutes, right? More than, less than? She rushed to the door and hit the buzzer so he could enter. She had maybe thirty seconds to gather herself mentally. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he knocked on her door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack opened the door and this might’ve been the best look she’d gotten at him in months. It was also the closest they’d been, aside from when she had checked to see if he was still breathing when he was unconscious a week ago.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stood tall but unimposing in her door frame. He looked… he looked really good. That blue shirt was bringing out all sorts of handsome in his features, not to mention his </span>
  <em>
    <span>eyes</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Where they had been fierce and focused a week ago, now they were open and sharp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She took a breath. “Hey.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey?</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was all she could manage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey yourself.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span> his </span>
  <em>
    <span>voice</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was even better directed toward her without the ambient noise of the diner masking it. “You, ah, you alright?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Smooth, Sloane. Keep this up and he’ll be proposing before you know it. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he laughed out. “Yeah, I’m good. Head’s all better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” she replied. A beat passed, then Jack realized they were still in the doorway. “Oh, God, come in! Come in.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, very suddenly, Special Agent Jethro Gibbs was in her apartment. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And, uh,” he said, turning slowly to take in her living room. “You’re okay?” Gibbs faced her, gesturing at her neck and wrist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m good - I’ll be fine.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>He cared! Oh, shut up you melodramatic teen.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good.” Gibbs nodded once, then twice. “Uh--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have a seat! I’ll - I - can I get you some water? Something to drink?” Jack gestured him desperately to the couch, needing this weird limbo of a moment to end. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs just shook his head while being herded, so Jack followed, sitting on the couch next to him - but not close. Not nearly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs set a plastic bag on her coffee table. “Laptop. Should be fine. There’s a couple scratches, but Kasie said it was workin’ okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks, thanks.” Jack swallowed, stuck between staring at his face and glancing around nervously. “And, hey, um. Thanks for last week - with the, you know.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn’t do much, did I?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack turned on the couch to fully face him, her mouth nearly hanging open. “What are you talking about? You -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I lost control of the situation and we both ended up in the hospital.” His voice was sharp, and she could hear him beating himself up over it. “You probably woulda fared better alone, Lieutenant.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, so she wasn’t the only one who did some Googling. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I doubt that, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Agent Gibbs</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she prodded in what she hoped was a joking manner. “Anyone against a meth-head is bound to face some unexpected challenges.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could see him try to shake it off, but she figured he was the kind of guy that would rather have the undeserved guilt weigh him down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His shoulders look strong enough for it… so do his arms... oh, snap out of it Sloane!</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Were you followin’ me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That night, it seemed like you were chasin’ after me or something.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Oh, well. I wouldn’t call it </span>
  <em>
    <span>chasing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but I was…” Jack was entirely aware of her current state of dress, her messed up career, her life having come to this absolute point of insanity and </span>
  <span>now, </span>
  <em>
    <span>now,</span>
  </em>
  <span> how was she supposed to do what she set out to do a week ago?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, Gibbs. I -” she scoffed at herself. “This is going to make me sound like an insane person, or a stalker, but I’m not!” Hell, she should’ve gotten that in writing after all. “I… noticed you in the diner. A lot. For weeks, actually. And I was sort of working up the courage to ask you out, or at least say hello, but then I got mugged and put you in the hospital. So it’s not looking good, sign-wise, that that was a solid choice on my part.” Jack couldn’t look at him. Instead she looked at the floor, trying to suppress the flush covering her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was it. The rejection she’d been bracing for.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wanna go get coffee?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack looked up and stared at him blankly until her brain kicked into gear. “What, now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs </span>
  <em>
    <span>smirked</span>
  </em>
  <span> and sat up straight, gesturing around her sad, minimalist apartment. “Got anything better to do right now, Jack?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>My name sounds good on his lips</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Oh,” she smiled. Miraculously, he relaxed his </span>
  <em>
    <span>handsome</span>
  </em>
  <span> smirk and smiled right back at her. “Yes. Yes, uh, let me change. Then, yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack sprang up and nearly ran to her bathroom, wondering what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>someone is supposed to wear on this kind of… date? Was it a date? Or was this a polite way for him to let her down gently, in a public space so she didn’t make a scene. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, frantically changing her pants, </span>
  <em>
    <span>only one way to find out.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Agent Gibbs,” Elaine greeted, “and Jack!” She followed them to Gibbs’ usual booth. “What can I get for you both this fine Friday evening?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Coffee, coffee is fine,” Gibbs said needlessly as Elaine was already pouring. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Same for me,” replied Jack, turning over her mug. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elaine paused for half a second, waiting for any further requests, and then made her way down the line of booths. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, Jack,” Gibbs started. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack took her time pouring in sugar, noting the mild awe Gibbs displayed at her coffee choices. Or was it exasperation? Either way, Jack felt delighted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What ya said, I, uh, wouldn’t mind getta ta know you better. After all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Even if I'm an insane stalker?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah,” Gibbs - and there was that </span>
  <em>
    <span>smirk</span>
  </em>
  <span> again, “you come with references is all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack hid her face behind a hand for a moment. “Leon talked to you, didn’t he?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs made a noise, confirming her embarrassment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great. Absolutely great,” Jack laughed. “I don’t suppose Grace Confalone said something too?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You and Grace? Ya know what, I’m not gonna ask. She’s been actin’ weird this week, yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack went back to her hiding place behind her hands, only to peek out when Gibbs spoke again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have plenty of experience dealing with crazy women, but something tells me that you’re a whole different ball game, Jack. Good kind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t blushing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve got baggage,” Jack conceded. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too.” Gibbs’ reply was frank and entirely disarming. “A </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiled. “Me too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe this could work after all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walked her home from the diner because of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span> he did. She got the impression that he would have whether or not his car was parked there too - it was hard to ignore the chivalry practically radiating from the man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Jack said, still laughing from the banter they’d shared on the journey back. Time flew by with him. “This is me,” she smirked, gesturing to her building and losing every ounce of confidence she’d built up in the last few hours and feeling for all the world like a teenager on her first date.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s right - he spent </span>
  </em>
  <span>hours </span>
  <em>
    <span>with you and didn’t run away screaming! That’s a win, Sloane! Get his number, take the win, and run before you ruin it all!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs, ever the silent-and-strong type even when he was having a full conversation, just tilted his head at her joke. Jack found it incredibly endearing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know you think that you messed up last week,” Jack said, mainly just to say something - anything. She tucked her hands in the back pocket of her jeans. “Hell, I know </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>messed up. If I hadn’t been so distracted I woulda taken that guy down with a swift kick to the--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What was distractin’ ya, Jack?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The joking tone had nearly disappeared and, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really, the gall he had - he knew damn well it was him doin’ the distracting.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Jack answered anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You.” She scoffed at herself. “It’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>you you you </span>
  </em>
  <span>for months, Jethro.” Jack felt her eyes get soft as she looked up at him, smiling through all the crossed wires of her emotions. “And I don’t even know how to do this now that you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>right in front of me.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shifted closer, just enough, and Jack felt her senses go on high alert. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For months now,” he said, pausing as if to find the right words. “All I’ve wanted ta’ do was this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs took the final half step into her space and Jack couldn’t help but raise up into the kiss. His lips were warm and dry, coffee-flavored and sure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack felt that same burn that she had when this all started, low in her belly and white-hot. It was gentle, just gentle pressure, but it felt right and good and Jack cursed her height when he pulled back, unable to follow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gibbs searched for her until her eyes opened fully, the haze of the kiss lingering. “That a good startin’ point for ya?” he half-laughed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack smacked his arm on reflex at his grin and pulled him back down to her level, kissing him as much to shut him up as to just do it again, and again, and again.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>[CAMERA PANS UP AND AWAY AS A GENERIC POP SONG ABOUT LOVE PLAYS]</p>
<p>Well, was that a rom-com enough ending or what? Sincerely, thank ALL of you who commented throughout and gave kudos and recs on Tumblr - I'm honored that you've liked this so much and I'm happy to be a part of this supportive fandom. Y'all are lovely. Let me know what you think!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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